


not quite a duck

by itsmylifekay



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Crack, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Skinny Steve, Vampire!Bucky, steve is a sassy shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:19:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5674243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmylifekay/pseuds/itsmylifekay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts like this, Bucky’s prowling around the floor of a hospital wing, snooping through any room that looks even vaguely promising, when he hears a noise from behind him. It’s faint, the shuffle of footsteps from the adjacent corridor. The hall’s fluorescent lights gleam down on him and he opens the next door marked Staff Only without much worry for whoever’s decided to take a midnight walk.</p>
<p>That’s his first mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not quite a duck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dah/gifts).



> based on this tumblr post: http://itsmylifekay.tumblr.com/post/136822346454/glassraptor-vampires-always-like-i-could-kill
> 
> and requested by a friend

 

It starts like this, Bucky’s prowling around the floor of a hospital wing, snooping through any room that looks even vaguely promising, when he hears a noise from behind him. It’s faint, the shuffle of footsteps from the adjacent corridor. The hall’s fluorescent lights gleam down on him and he opens the next door marked Staff Only without much worry for whoever’s decided to take a midnight walk.

That’s his first mistake.

His second is leaving the supply room door unlocked behind him and the third is being impatient. But he’s _hungry,_ alright? He’s fucking hungry and there’s nothing wrong with having a quick snack before making his great escape, or at least there wouldn’t be if it weren’t for the way the lights suddenly go on, flooding the small room in a single, blinding second.

Part of his brain is screaming at him, knows this is a very-not-good kind of situation he’s gotten himself into, but another part manages to maintain its cool, keeps his back to the door and carefully wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What are you doing in here?” The voice is deep and firm, probably security, and Bucky mentally curses at his luck.

He turns slowly, holding his hands out in a placating gesture, then freezes when he sees the tiny, frail thing in front of him, one bony hand gripping an IV stand and the other balled into a fist. A grin curves up the side of his face. “I could ask you the same question, couldn’t I?”

“I’m a patient,” the man says, “I have more reason to be here than you do.” His eyes narrow and his brows furrow and Bucky realizes with a start that _shit_ he’s still holding onto the half-empty blood bag. (Not to mention the collection he’s got stuffed into his bag.)

“Look, pal,” Bucky says, trying to keep it casual. “I work here, so don’t worry about it. Just go ahead back to bed-”

“Then where’s your badge?” The guy interrupts.

“My what?”

And shit, now he’s starting to wonder if he should’ve gone with some sob story, an ailing grandma and overdue bills… Either way it’s clear he’s not getting out of this mess easily.

“Your hospital badge, if you work here you should have one. Either way I don’t think the hospital would want you stealing blood...or drinking it.”

Bucky’s eyes widen to what he’s sure are comical proportions, stammering for a moment before Steve reaches up and taps at his own lower lip, prompting Bucky to wipe his mouth again and curse when red comes away on his skin. “Look, it’s not what it-”

“I’m pretty sure it’s exactly what it looks like.”

The guy’s face is unforgiving, fierce, and for someone who looks like he weighs about one hundred pounds soaking wet he’s obviously not about to back down. Bucky sighs, stares at the ceiling and contemplates his options. There aren’t many.

“Would you believe me if I told you I need it?”

“I would believe that maybe _you_ believe you need it,” the guys says, watching Bucky with careful eyes, his free hand no longer in a fist. Which, good, that’s progress.

“Well I do need it,” Bucky looks around the room and spots a stethoscope left hanging by the door, points to it and says, “Bring that over here and I’ll prove it.”

The guy looks at him dubiously, clearly not convinced, but with an earnest ‘ _please’_ from Bucky he plucks the item from the wall and makes his way over, stands in front of Bucky and looks up at him with a challenge in his eyes despite the fact he barely makes it to Bucky’s collarbone. It’s like going toe to toe with a lion cub.

“Listen to my heartbeat,” he says, ignoring the incredulous look he gets. “Listen to it. You’ll get it once you do.”

A few moments of fiddling later and the guy’s got the stethoscope pushed up against Bucky’s chest, little plugs in his ears and breath held in his throat as he listens, and listens, brows furrowing once he realizes there’s something amiss. But instead of the panic Bucky’s been expecting, he gets bony fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt and then the press of metal against his bare skin. He yelps at the sudden violation of his space but stills at the curt shushing he receives, waiting in petulant silence as this strange man listens for a heartbeat that doesn’t exist.

Finally, his companion seems to realize this as well and steps back, staring at Bucky with an indiscernible expression on his face.

Bucky clears his throat. “So, there you have it. No heartbeat. I’m a vampire. I need the blood. Now be happy I’m not taking from living donors and get back to bed.” He puts a bit of weight to his words, tries to put some hidden, dark meaning around the edges, but the guy doesn’t budge.

In fact, he keeps staring right at Bucky and says, “You still shouldn’t steal.”

Exasperated and unsure what the fuck he’s supposed to do with a guy who apparently thinks it’s no big deal that vampires exist, let alone that he’s face to face with one, Bucky throws his hands in the air and curses at the ceiling. “I’m pretty sure laws don’t apply to the undead, pal. Besides, I think stealing’s better than _murdering._ ”

The guy just keeps looking at him, unimpressed, and Bucky wants to shake him, wonders how the fuck this stick of a man can look in the face of batshit-insanity and death and not even blink.

“I’m a vampire,” he says slowly, pointing to himself, then he points to the man before him. “You’re a human. I could kill you if I wanted.” (Maybe, technically. But Bucky’s never done that and he really has no plans to start now.) “Do you get that?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah, so?” Then the guy fucking _shrugs_. “Another human being could kill me. So could a dog. Or a dedicated duck. You aren’t special.”

And that, that right there is the moment that Bucky’s life changes forever.

It’s the moment he meets Steve Rogers, stubborn asshole extraordinaire, the man who strikes fear into the hearts of nurses everywhere and followed a strange man into a supply room in the name of what was right. He’s absolutely fucking _insane,_ Bucky’s sure of it, but that somehow makes him even better.

They exchange names and perfunctory details in the awkward minutes that follow, Steve chastising Bucky into returning the blood bags and Bucky sighing and wondering how the hell he’s supposed to feed himself now that dinner’s been ruined. They walk back to Steve’s room in silence and stop at the door, Steve eying him carefully before he says, “Wait here,” and disappears into the darkened space. Bucky can still see him, eyes better in the dark, so he watches as Steve gets together a pen and paper and jots down a quick note. A note that is then thrust in Bucky’s direction.

“Meet me tomorrow night and we’ll figure something out, don’t steal anything else in the meantime.” He gives Bucky a purposeful look then steps back into his room, shuts the door resolutely behind him. Bucky stands there for a moment more, stares down at the paper in his hands and wonders how his night came to this, wonders if he should leave town and change his name and make sure Steve can never find him. For all he knows, Steve’s going to report him, tell the nurses that the half-empty blood bag is thanks to a guy named Bucky Barnes who thinks he’s a vampire and runs around stealing from hospitals at night. Wouldn’t that be great?

But, somehow, he doesn’t think that’s what Steve has in mind.

~*~

“You came,” Steve says, staring at him with those same haunting blue eyes before stepping back and gesturing for Bucky to come in.

It’s obviously his house, tiny and neat as a pin, painted white with grey shutters and two cars in the drive. He vaguely wonders if anyone else is home, if Steve lives with parents or friends or a significant other. If he has a _family._ He doesn’t seem old enough, but Bucky’s not one to judge.

“Do I need to invite you in or something?”

The question cuts into his musings and Bucky quickly shakes his head, steps over the threshold and makes room for Steve to shut the door behind him. “No, you technically invited me in already.” He looks around the small entryway and kicks off his shoes when he notices the pile by the door. “You have a beautiful home,” he says, falling back on awkward small-talk because what the hell are you supposed to say in this situation? “Are you feeling better?” And there, that was probably a good place to start. He _had_ since Steve in a hospital gown with an IV in his arm just the night before.

But it’s apparently the wrong thing to say because Steve’s eyes narrow and his shoulders tense. “I’m fine, it was just a checkup.”

“A checkup at the hospital,” Bucky says, because he doesn’t have proper control of his mouth and apparently likes to put his foot in it. He gets another hard look before Steve turns and starts leading him down the hall and up a narrow set of stairs, pushing open a door once they’re on the second story.

Bucky’s immediately assaulted with an unfamiliar smell, something like pencil shavings and crayons and newspaper all rolled into one, something with a chemical aftertaste and an earthiness that takes him by surprise. It’s the smell of art, he realizes a moment later, taking in the pages and pages of sketches all over the room, the half filled canvases and tubes of paint stacked up on a small desk in the corner. “Wow,” he says, taking a step into the center of the small space and doing a slow turn. “I guess you’re an artist then?”

Steve shrugs and takes a seat on the bed, “When I have the time.”

There’s an undertone of sickness to the space as well, something that reminds Bucky of the hospital and the heaviness that comes with it. He eyes Steve carefully and decides not to push, if the man wants to say it was just a checkup then Bucky’s going to let him, even if current evidence points to the contrary.

“So,” Bucky finally says, drawing the word out as he rocks back on his heels. “You said we’d be figuring something out?”

“You said you needed blood, which is why you were stealing it.”

Bucky nods.

“Well, you shouldn’t steal, but you shouldn’t hurt people either. So the only option I see is getting you a donor, someone who consents to you drinking their blood.”

And, that’s...not actually a half-bad idea. “Except who the hell is going to volunteer to be vampire food? We can’t exactly put an ad on craigslist.”

Steve looks at him, just looks at him, then lifts one slender blond eyebrow.

“Oh, well,” Bucky shifts nervously, “You don’t have to-”

“I know I don’t have to, but _you_ have to eat and this is easy so it’s fine.” And with that, he scoots further back on the bed and pulls off his shirt, leaving his hair fluffed up and adorable and in stark contrast to the smattering of fucking _tattoos_ he’s got all over his chest. (Bucky may or may not stare rather obviously at those.)

He clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair, trying to tamp down the sudden tightness in his chest. His heart doesn’t even beat anymore, it shouldn’t be allowed to misbehave. “Right, well, I’m probably not going to go for the neck, but if you want to get a towel and some bandaids we can try your arm.”

Reaching into a side drawer, Steve pulls out a packet of gauze squares and tosses them onto the bed. “Towels are behind you, in the bin under the desk.”

Bucky goes where he’s told and picks one out, comes back and sits delicately at the side of Steve’s bed, situates the towel so it’s covering the sheets and the waistband of Steve’s pants. He clears his throat again. “Well, do you want me to just...?” He makes a weak gesture towards Steve’s arm, wondering how this is real and what’s become of his life, but somehow can’t find it in himself to care with the way Steve is looking calmly back at him and shrugging his shoulders.

“Go for it,” Steve says, settling back into the pillows. “I’m not getting any younger.”

Bucky snorts at that, picks up the pale weight of Steve’s forearm and smooths his fingers over the blue veins just beneath the surface. His mouth starts to water in anticipation and he lets his fangs descend, feels them poke at his lower lip just before he opens his mouth, presses what seems like a kiss just below the juncture of Steve’s elbow and bites. It’s small, a quick flash of canines, just enough to have twin trails of blood oozing slowly from Steve’s arm and onto Bucky’s tongue.

It’s fresh and warm and Bucky groans at the feeling, unaccustomed to it as he is. He drinks as much as he dares, just enough to take the edge off, then pulls away, dragging his tongue over the incisions in an act of instinct more than anything else. He watches, fascinated, as the punctures quickly clot, turn dark, and seem to fade. They’re still there, not completely healed, but they look hours old instead of seconds. “Huh,” he says, tracing over the scabs with his thumbs. “Didn’t know I could do that.”

Steve’s eyebrows raise to his hairline, something just this side of judgmental in the amused quirk of his lips.

“What?” Bucky asks, “I’ve never fed from a person before, how was I supposed to know how it worked?”

“You’ve never- Really? You’ve always stolen blood?” He tilts his head to the side and that quirk turns into a full-fledged smirk. “Would’ve thought you’d be better at not getting caught then.”

“Yeah, well, I’m only a few months old so I don’t think you can blame me.”

At that, Steve finally gives him a reaction, surprise and disbelief coloring his face. “A few months? Aren’t vampires supposed to be old?”

“Hollywood vampires, maybe. My creator was a total nerd, still said groovy and wore tie-dye, spent half the time smoking some kind of vampire weed. Thus my leaving.”

Steve pats his shoulder, obviously trying not to laugh, eyes bright and bottom lip bitten between his teeth. And yeah, okay, Bucky can admit it sounds pretty ridiculous. It _is_ pretty ridiculous. He can’t stop the tired laugh that leaves him, flops back onto the bed and Steve’s bony knees with an exaggerated groan of _‘what even is my life?’_

“Well,” Steve finally says, “I imagine it’s pretty much the same, just with less garlic.” His voice is so serious, so calm as he says it that Bucky can’t help but look, narrow his eyes at him and then glare when Steve starts laughing, unashamed. The worst part is that Bucky doesn’t even know if that thing about garlic is true.)

But Steve’s laugh is infectious and Bucky joins him, tangled together on a bed he somehow feels like he’s always known. He feels comfortable and safe and he still can’t believe he met Steve yesterday, skinny thing in a hospital gown that shamed him out of dinner. And sure, he might be young as far as vampires go, but he’ll learn the rules, the myths and the legends and how far they are from the truth, he’ll figure it out. He will.

And something tells him he won’t be alone, that there’ll be a certain blond-haired, blue-eyed mystery by his side.

~*~

_Absolutely fucking ridiculous. Ridiculous!_

Bucky shakes his head and paces in front of the doorway, arms crossed and lips pursed as he once again raps at Steve’s door. He hears a muffled, “Go away, Buck,” from the other side but isn’t deterred, just knocks again, _louder._

“Steve, c’mon, don’t be an asshole you know I was trying to help.”

It takes a few seconds before he hears shuffling and the door swings open, a very irate Steve on the other side. “By tattling on me to my friends? They made me go to the hospital, and you know how Nat gets when she thinks I’ve been pushing myself too hard.”

“You _have_ been pushing yourself too hard, that was the point,” Bucky says. “If you hadn’t, the doctors wouldn’t have put you on an IV drip when you got there.” Steve just keeps glaring, clearly unimpressed with Bucky’s logic, so Bucky sighs and tries again. “Look, I’m not sorry for worrying about you, but I am sorry for going over your head.”

Finally, Steve steps aside, nods his head and starts walking so Bucky can follow, step over the new piece of wood tacked over the threshold with a muttered curse. Because Steve could be an absolute shit sometimes, but this was taking it to new levels.

And it was all because of one stupid night, like all things seemed to be between them. It had seemed normal enough at first, they’d hung out, talked and joked around and soundly beaten Nat and Sam at Mario Kart, but then they’d headed upstairs to sleep...and so Bucky could eat. Steve was still offering his donor services as a means of keeping Bucky on the straight-and-narrow, but it had its drawbacks. Bucky could never take too much, was hungry and irritable half the time, and was constantly worried about hurting Steve. The other man was tough, sure, but everyone had a limit, not just from how much would kill them but how much would make them weak, tired, out of sorts. Steve’s limit happened to be relatively low.

And all of that culminated into two nights ago, when Bucky had bitten into Steve’s arm, expecting the usual warm, coppery taste, but got something...wrong. He’s not sure how to explain it, not really, but the closest he could think of was watered down juice. Needless to say he’d stopped drinking immediately, asked Steve what was wrong, and then proceeded to get in an argument with the stubborn idiot for nearly half an hour about how _something was clearly wrong._ Steve hadn’t believed him, Bucky’d gotten Nat involved, and then there’d be more arguments, followed by cursing and forced trips to the hospital.

And Steve, bless his mortal soul, decided this called for creating a new threshold to his house just to keep Bucky out. Because excuse him for caring.

Bucky huffs and crosses his arms, not sure what he’s supposed to do when neither of them are about to admit to being wrong (but it’s obvious neither of them really want to be mad at the other either).

“Steve,” he sighs. “You have to know I didn't do it to be a dick.”

There’s a long stretch of silence, the clock on the wall echoing unnaturally loud in Bucky’s ears, before Steve sighs as well. “I know, but you’ve got to stop treating me like I’m going to break.”

“I bite and drink blood from your arm on a regular basis, I don’t see how that’s treating you like you’ll break.” He walks over and puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder, slides it up to his neck so he can feel the other man’s pulse against his fingers. “You take care of me, so why can’t I take care of you?”

It’s a simple statement, but it rings down to Bucky’s very core, has been echoing inside of him from the moment their arrangement started. What they have is reciprocal in so many ways, but Steve holds his pride to his chest like a lion, standoffish and defensive whenever anyway tries to help him. It drives Bucky insane, most days, but today more than ever.

Finally, Steve grumbles, turns his head away and mumbles something under his breath that Bucky has to strain even _his_ ears to catch. But it’s there, he hears it, and it brings a smile to his face as he tugs Steve close and buries his face in his neck, breaths him in and kisses teasingly at his pulse.

It’s not complete acquiescence, but it’s something Bucky can work with, especially if it means proving to Steve that he can trust him, that he can loosen some of his pride and know Bucky’s not going to pry it away. Because Bucky respects him, thinks he’s terrifying and amazing and unbelievable in more ways than one. (His poor, cold heart almost wants to beat again when he and Steve are together, but that’s a secret he’s keeping to himself for now.)

They’re still learning, months later and they’ve still got a lot more questions than answers, a lot more to figure out about each other and themselves. But they’re getting there. And honestly, Bucky wouldn’t have it any other way.

~*~

Epilogue: 5 years later

 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Bucky groans.

Steve just grins at him, teeth gleaming and somehow more menacing than they have any right to be, especially since Bucky’s the one with the actual deadly incisors.

“What’s the matter, Buck?” Steve asks, going for innocent but so far off the mark with the devious glint he’s got going in his eyes. Bucky doesn’t know if he wants to kiss him or smack him, can’t do either at the moment though, considering all the fucking _silver_ Steve’s decided to cover himself with.

Earrings, eyebrow ring, lip ring, necklaces, bracelets, rings, basically any piece of silver Steve could find seems to have somehow found its way onto his personage. There’s even a freaking spoon sticking out of his pocket.

“What’s the matter,” Bucky sighs, “is that my boyfriend’s trying to fucking kill me.”

Steve smirks, quite pleased with himself, and refuses to take off any of the ridiculous accessories for the rest of the day. Just because he can. Just because he wants to.

Bucky hates him sometimes.

(But _fuck_ how he loves him, too.)

 

 


End file.
